


From father to son

by Steangine



Series: FemDante [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: 3 Dante, 5 Nero, 5 Vergil, Bottom Dante (Devil May Cry), Dante has sex with both, F/M, Incest, Not Threesome, Sibling Incest, boobs, fem Dante
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-10-20 00:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20666162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steangine/pseuds/Steangine
Summary: “So…” After a long silence, Dante finally speaks from the first time since when Nero crashed at the Devil May Cry, not expecting to find that version of his aunt. “…you’re Vergil’s brat, huh?”A younger version of Dante switches with the one Nero knows, and probably it's too early for some secrets to be revealed without harsh consequences.[fem 3 Dante (pre Temen-ni-Gru) - 5 Nero - 5 Vergil - NeroDante - VergilDante - not threesome sex]





	1. Nero

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my first attempt at using present tense, and some writing-porn practice.

It doesn’t run in the family, having photographs. Some of the rare pictures of Nero as a kid has reached the present days thanks to Kyrie’s dedicate preservation, while the only fragment of past from Dante and Vergil is their mother’s picture framed on the desk. But even if Nero has no idea how Dante or Vergil looked like more than twenty years ago, there is no doubt that the half-naked punk with her legs crossed on the desk is a younger version of his aunt.

There isn’t just a particular detail which gives her identity away, the whole picture yells _Dante_: white straight hair, a huge red coat with a single leather strip holding the hems together and barely covering the bare chest, Ebony and Ivory hanging from her waist. Cold light-blue eyes.

Dante is lazily throwing glances around, clearly finding that place familiar, but Nero has noticed how sometimes she stops, probably where there is something new, something that only the older Dante could know. She has Rebellion into her right hand, the point on the floor, and slightly rotates the sword from the tip of her fingers to the palm and back. Nero looks at the empty eyes carved into the metal skull, mesmerized by the slow but constant twist of the blade, and wonders what she would say knowing that at that point in time her favorite weapon, well, has upgraded and changed its appearance for good.

Dante looks younger than him, and the demon energy coming from her is so feeble that she almost seems human – if Nero hadn’t fully awakened his demon blood, honing his instinct and sharping his senses, he wouldn’t probably be able to perceive that feeble hint lingering around her.

“So…” After a long silence, Dante finally speaks from the first time since when Nero crashed at the Devil May Cry, not expecting to find _that_ version of his aunt. “…you’re Vergil’s brat, huh?”

Nero has a quick flashback of his first encounter with her in Fortuna, when he was still a hot-tempered and ill-mouthed kid who reacted with angered words at her constant teasing. Now the parts are switched, and _he_ is the adult in charge who could take advantage of his own experience without falling for cheap tricks. Nero feels like he is not ready to live up to that role.

“Yes, old lady.” Nero crosses his arms. “Looks like I am.”

Her eyes run from head to toe, and she wrinkles her nose. “Well, couldn’t pretend something nice sprouted from his old-fashioned marble nuts.” Her smile doesn’t reach the eyes.

Nero shouldn’t be so surprised of that comeback. He stopped Dante and Vergil from killing each other and forced them to get over their stupid sibling rivalry which ended in a whole town being completely erased and Nero having a headache for a whole week, wondering where they could be. However, after they came back from Hell, whatever was left of that feeling remained in the shape of endless endearing bickers – okay, sometimes they poked each other too much with their swords, and Nero always found some blood stains in the office, but he has learnt that was their way to show their (twisted) brotherly love. So, the mask of gelid disappointment freezing Dante’s face hits Nero hard in the stomach.

“Yeah.” Nero forces himself to maintain a carefree attitude; he grabs one pillow from the floor and tosses it on the sofa, next to where Vergil is reading in silence, as if explaining the whole situation to Nero has freed him from the burden, passing it to his son, and it doesn’t concern him anymore. “Thank god I’ve taken after my mommy.” A load of bullshit: Nero has found himself so similar to Vergil and Dante, that he doesn’t know if his mother’s genes were strong enough to leave something in him.

“Even the horrible taste in people?” She chuckles at Nero’s puzzled look. “Or maybe she was desperate to get laid with someone, if she opened her legs for my big brother here.”

Dante doesn’t even make a gesture at Vergil, let alone looking at him. He doesn’t seem to care.

Nero isn’t the brightest light on the Christmas tree when it comes to empathy. Even Nico is sharper than him (she only lacks in sensitivity and cannot keep her sharp tongue into her mouth for more than thirty seconds), and Nero can’t get a single clue on the mood unless someone throws it on his face, but, as dumb as he is, even he has realized that the gears aren’t grinding in the right way.

All of these thoughts awaken in less than a second into his head, and a surgent anger erases them all at the same speed, without giving them time to carve their roots into Nero’s spirit. He reads the mood, but his behavior kicks in before he can understand it.

“Hey, you sure talk big for someone I kicked in the butt.” More or less. It was only one fist immediately paid back in double. However, his spirit roars in satisfaction when a glimmer awakens into her eyes, breaking through that smartass face.

“Oh yeah?” Dante uses Rebellion as a support to jump on the desk and descend with a leap, crouching on the floor before raising again. “Excuse me, but I don’t remember fighting any kid lately.”

During the whole motion, Nero’s eyes don’t follow the dramatic swirl of her long coat or keep attention to the blade of Rebellion: he cannot help but watch how her breast, pushing against the leather strip as if it wants to get some freedom, bobs up and down. Nero wonders first how she can fight like that, and then at what age Dante started wearing something under the coat.

“You’ll remember.” He affirms with a smirk.

She smirks back. “Then show me you’re not all mouth and no trousers.”

Nero is almost sure to sense a malicious vibe into her words. But he has no time to reflect, and barely manages to shield himself with the Red Queen from Dante’s sudden stinger. Despite the loud clash of their swords echoes into their ears, both clearly hear the thump of a book being closed. Vergil stands up.

“Don’t fight in here.” He reprimands them, but from his mild tone it seems like he doesn’t really mind if they shatter the office into shreds. “Nero, the job from Morrison. You didn’t come here to bicker.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who–” Nero grabs the folder Vergil has thrown at him and snorts. Somehow, he knows he won’t change his mind, whatever he may be thinking. “Whatever.”

“Make haste. It must be done within this evening. Don’t bring shame on us.”

“What does that even mean?” Nero genuinely doesn’t understand the last remark, but, instead of starting a useless fight with Vergil (mostly because his dialectic cannot hold a candle against his father’s), he just hangs Red Queen on his back and walks out of the office. He glances back at Dante through the closing gap of the door.

The door closes with a heavy familiar clank.

Without Nero, it seems like Dante doesn’t have any topic of conversation worth her time. She ignores Vergil and goes back to the desk, grabbing one of the magazines scattered on its top. Before she hadn’t much time to confirm it (waking up in the future instead of the present is something that can throw her off as well), but when she looks again at the cover, she cannot mistake the face of the model which is in several of her readings. Not one of her favorites, but it is nice that she is still working in the model industry – and, last but not least, has turned into a gorgeous old lady.

However, only a bit tad of her attention is for the pages she is leafing through. Despite not having looked at him once since when Nero crashed at the office, Dante has never lost Vergil from her radar. She only pretends she doesn’t feel his presence filling the air around them, dripping on her skin like a dense syrup. The scent is familiar, but something is off: Vergil is older now and, between them, he is the only one who knows what happened in that twenty and more years-gap which separates them.

Dante can picture him approaching her from behind, his arm slowly raising, and the hand tending at her. Vergil is reading her, she knows it, as she knows he hasn’t fallen for the little theatrical piece which saw her displaying the usual carefree attitude. Her brother has read through her mask: he isn’t anymore as calm as he was before Nero -_his child_\- left, and he is waiting for a physical, violent reaction aimed at him.

Vergil is right.

Dante doesn’t wait for his hand to touch her to let the anger explode in a crackling burst of energy – so young and immature, Vergil thinks sensing the mere shadow of the beast she is hiding inside, still chained to her human side. Yet, Vergil has forgotten that Dante’s strength, as Nero’s, doesn’t come solely from her demonic power, but is the heritage of an early life spent defending herself with the barbarian tools and practices the human world could offer. He reacts covering his throat and face, and her right fist crashes against the bone without even cracking it.

But her left foot smashes against his nuts, and Vergil has a sudden blackout.

_ Ha-ah! _ Vergil hears from somewhere her satisfied chuckle, and that’s all he can elaborate in the handful of seconds the pain takes over his five senses. When he comes back in contact with reality, the pain has lowered to a physical level where only the damaged part sends shocks of fire to his brain, which readily replies with shame, anger and a raising desire of trusting Yamato inside his sister – not in a way she would love.

Vergil snaps his eyes wide open, and he realizes on the spot that his own anger cannot match with Dante’s.

If only she snarled at him, threw insults and punches, as she used to do when they were children (a habit she has never really grown out of), it would be much easier dealing with her. Vergil cannot remember he had ever witnessed such a cold ice piercing glare coming from her.

“Congrats for you kid, big brother.” Words sharper than a blade, Vergil feels them cracking his skin. “I can do the math, mom taught me well.”

Vergil understands what she is referring to, but his reply is a scoff drenched in a condescending coat which aims at irritating Dante enough to drag her back to the usual pattern of response he knows he can deal with. “Pardon me, sister, but you should articulate your thoughts in a proper manner. We may be twins, but I can assure you we haven’t reached a mutual understanding yet.”

Dante is about to slash him with Rebellion – well, try to. Vergil sees the movement, but she stops it instants before emerging. She is mad, so mad that she could slice him all day long without any rest, there is no need of blood ties to read the savage threat fizzling at him.

“For someone who despises human race, you sure were fast to find a hole for comfort.” Her voice is full of mockery and resentment, the grin so large that bared her teeth, and Vergil sees in that enraged grimace the shadow of her devil form. “But I guess _I_ am to blame as well, because for once I believed you.”

The door cracks, and both turn to Nero, standing at the entrance of the office. “Hey, I forgot to tell–” The left hand is still on the handle, one foot outside on the step and the other already inside. “–you…” He is confused, and it shows on his face. Nero looks at Vergil, then at Dante and, as if her eyes has burnt him, he glances immediately back at his father.

“What’s going on?”

His voice is harsher than intended, but Nero cannot help it: his guts cannot lie to him, Dante is clearly intentioned to shove her sword down Vergil’s throat. Again.

“You out of this, brat.” Dante points Rebellion at him. “Not your business.”

“It’s my business if you’re trying to kill each other again!” Nero by now has enough of their endless bickering (and the twins seem to intensify their rivalry when Nero is around, just to piss him off), let alone a sudden throwback of killing each other – despite Vergil doesn’t seem to bother even unsheathing Yamato. “Why can’t you just stop this already?!”

“Why don’t you go back to mommy and leave this to the adults, huh?”

When few hours later Nero will think about this, he still won’t be able to tell if he snapped because he couldn’t tolerate Dante’s attitude, so full of herself when she clearly was inferior to him, or because all the poison she spilt into the word _mommy_.

Nero sends her flying to the other side of the office – damn it. He will buy her a new plant, he promises somewhere inside. Of course, that isn’t enough to knock her off: some gunshots threat to reach Nero, and Dante dashes back ready to slash at him. His Dante, the one who was always ready to mock and embarrass him, will probably be mad at the gun holes into the wall, complaining for ten seconds before forgetting the matter; the current Dante has the eyes of a devil and the fierce spirit of a beast, and Nero is genuinely fascinated. If he wasn’t her target, he would observe her better, study how Dante moves when she was around his age and, maybe, learn something from her. But now he must attack.

It’s not difficult blocking Rebellion with Red Queen. The blades screech. Nero can easily match Dante’s strength, he pushes her away, and ignites her burning rage with an arrogant smirk.

“That’s all you can do?” He rotates Red Queen’s grip once, marking his words with a roar of his weapon. “I bet you are all talk and no action.”

Nero remembers when _he_ was the one dragged around, constantly mocked and beat around because the gap between him and Dante was too wide, and he was an inexperienced brat. Now the tables are turned, he is the stronger one confronting a conceited punk who’s easily ignited. His words hit the target and Dante pushes him away in a burst of strength to attack straightforward again.

Nero can easily dodge her, he thinks, maybe pushing a hand on her head and making her fall again, in a replica of what happened in Fortuna some years ago, roles switched. A nice revenge, but meaningless if not consumed with the right Dante. Instead, he blocks rebellion with his wings. Blue ghostly hands hold the blade as Red Queen swings near Dante’s neck – he enjoys it more than he should. She glares at him.

“Why the glare?”

As he chuckles, Dante chuckles as well, and Nero has no time to elaborate the surprise. Dante releases the grip on Rebellion and dashes forward: Red Queen’s blade scratches on her neck, leaving a thread of blood, and Nero can’t believe it. He bends backwards, but Dante is unexpectedly faster than him, and he is within her reach. The last thing he sees before the world turns completely white for few seconds are her ice blue eyes glimmering in the dim light of the office. Dante headbutts him on the nose, and Nero falls on the floor like a deadweight.

When Nero opens his eyes again, they’re both surrounded by familiar swords of blue energy.

“Hey!” He complains standing up, his nose already healing, but the blood still covering his upper lip. “I can fight!”

Nero ignores the swords and stalks forward until he finds Vergil’s arm pressing against his chest. On the other side, with the opposite arm, he’s doing the same with Dante, who doesn’t take her eyes off Nero, treating her brother as an inanimate object on her way – an object who can withstand her brutal struggle.

“Your son is worthless like you, Vergil! Out of the way!”

“Who’s worthless?! Let me go, Vergil!”

Right after Dante’s fist was two centimeters from scraping his nose away, Nero almost manages to land a punch on her cheek.

“Okay then.”

Vergil stops containing their young foolish rage and lets them go. Nor Dante nor Nero expected him to give up, and both falters forward, crashing one against the other with such strength (the same they want to use to hurt) that they can’t stop the fall. Sitting on the floor, their glares can burn holes in the flesh, but the unexpected outcome seems to have soothed their spirits enough to stop them from biting at each other.

Dante is the first one to stand. Her raging spirit hasn’t calmed down, yet she doesn’t look for a fight anymore. Rebellion on her back and Ebony and Ivory back in the holster, she stomps to the front door without looking at anyone. Nero is quite sure that if he tries to stop her, she would rip his flesh from his bones like a wild animal; despite his desire of showing he is strong, stronger than her, there is something holding him back, an alarm echoing into his head – it’s his common sense, the one Dante has thrown out the window for her whole youth, apparently.

“Where do you think you’re–” The only reply Vergil receives is the door slamming at him. “–going?”

The silence is heavy. Nero looks at Vergil looking for some answers.

Nero may resemble Dante, from his combat style to his foolish mouth always ready to bite with a sharp remark, but Nero, and Vergil is grateful of that even if he’s never told a living soul, is too naïve to hide whatever passes into his head. His eyes are clearly asking _“What now?”_ and his mouth isn’t late to follow.

“What now?”

“She can take care of herself.” That doesn’t satisfy him, so Vergil, to avoid a further rambling, just adds. “She’ll be back. I’ll take this job, you stay here and clean the mess you did.” He doesn’t even reach the door that hears Nero again.

“Are you going looking for her?”

Vergil doesn’t reply and heads into the late afternoon.

“Oh yes, sure. Keep including me in family affairs like always.” Nero snorts, passing his right index under the nose: it’s dirtied with his own blood. “…that bitch.”

But he remains in the office. And waits.

***

When Dante comes back, it’s night. The office is dark, silent, but not empty. Nero is sitting on _her_ chair, with his feet on _her _desk, eating some pizza whose delicious smell went directly to her stomach, reminding her she hasn’t eaten anything since that morning.

“Hey, welcome back. I was thinking you left for good.” Dante doesn’t ignore Nero’s provocation, but she goes for a slice of pizza first. “Hey, I bought that.”

“And I bought that chair. Move.”

Nero shrugs and bites his slice without moving. After leaving the sword and guns on the desk, Dante gets closer, and he already figures her kicking the chair to dethrone him. That’s why when Dante settles on his lap, using him as the chair, and raises both feet on the desk, Nero doesn’t react immediately to the surprise.

“Hey, you took me for a pillow?”

“I’m just sitting on my chair, brat.”

Nero wants to feel some irritation coming from her attitude, but he can only grasp a vague sense of resignation and a hint of amusement – did Dante feel that when they first met? And he seriously acted so cockily even if he couldn’t stand a chance against her? The rage disappears (stalking in circles in the office has helped more than expected), and what is left is just a sincere curiosity – and, sincerely speaking, _that_ Dante has something of Nico in her attitude, so Nero just can’t stay mad at her for long, despite what happened that afternoon.

“Okay, _old lady_…” Nero heard her devouring the slice of pizza. “…you took your sweet time to come back.”

“I didn’t know _my place_ has a curfew.”

“Well, you close at nine.”

Nero is sure he hears a small chuckle and confirms it when Dante turns around and she is smiling. “Hey, you can make jokes.” She frowns. “You sure you came straight out from my brother’s wrinkly balls?”

“Pretty positive.”

Dante leans forward to grab another slice of pizza, and Nero wonders how the belt of the coat manages to remain in place over her nipples. As she turns back, she changes position, sitting with legs astride to face him. Nero is grateful the lightbulb has blown out and nor Dante nor Vergil has replaced it yet, because he feels the tips of the ears getting warmer.

It’s dark, but his eyes are of a demon’s, and he can see. _He can feel_. Nero can see the belt pressing into the soft round breast, and he can feel the strong thighs pressing on his legs, so dangerously close to his groin. Dante doesn’t lean in any closer, nor shows in her movements and voice the slightest trace of teasing, which worsen Nero’s embarrassment for his own arousal over nothing.

“So, what’s your name?”

She munches on the pizza and maybe doesn’t notice Nero has to breathe again to reply properly. “Nero.” His voice sounds firm.

Dante tilts her head. “Uhm, not a bad name.”

Nero has a déjà vu and wonders how much young Dante differs from her older self – lack of clothes aside.

“Don’t you know about personal space?” Nero slightly presses a hand against her shoulder, and Dante doesn’t oppose to it. She stands up and leans against the desk. The pizza is already gone.

“Then get your ass off my chair.”

Nero scoffs. “Why don’t you make me?”

Those are the magic words. Dante is fast at aiming at the chair with a kick, and Nero reacts in time and blocks her with his right foot.

“Not bad for a brat.”

“Not bad for an old lady.”

When Dante attacks again, Nero must dodge, but not before throwing the chair at the other side of the office. It rolls on the floor, dangerously scratching against the jukebox to stop right next to it, standing on its four legs.

Struggling in the office (again) is a bad idea. Struggling against a woman (for how she could break Nero’s neck with her bare <s>thighs</s> hands) is a worse idea. And struggling against a half-naked woman, whose wobbling breast makes Nero think his trousers suddenly has shrunk, is the worst of all the ideas in the history of ideas. Thankfully for Nero, his Sparda blood works well under the urge of the battle, and all the useless human trains of thoughts running on the railways of common-sense derails, leaving only the desire of fighting and winning.

So, he doesn’t hesitate anymore at throwing a punch at Dante right before he avoided her uppercut. His fist smashes against the knee she has tried to shove into his ribs and both falter and stand back to fight. Fists, kicks, elbows, knees. Nero is quite sure he felt Dante’s teeth scratching his knuckles, but is not that sure, because he is too busy to counterattack to notice small details. He feels the pain of the impact, and little matters what she uses to attack.

Dante has dropped the savage instinct which pierced Nero when they first met, the killing glare that alarmed all his senses and the mindless pattern of someone who only wanted to hurt. She seems to enjoy the struggle, her smile doesn’t disappear even when Nero manages to land a punch on her face – but he takes too much time to indulge in his victory, because the kick into his stomach makes him groan louder than he wants to.

Nero charges forward to give back what he’s received. But he doesn’t expect Dante losing her balance, because Dante doesn’t expect it either. A foot on the pizza box which at some point fell on the floor without none of them noticing, and Dante stumbles behind. She knows she cannot jolt forward, because Nero is in front of her, so she decides to roll on the floor. However, she doesn’t take into consideration Nero’s kindness, because she knows no shit about Nero, if not he is the son of his asshole brother – and because of that, she expects him to behave more or less like him, maybe without that pretentious conceited attitude. Instead of letting her fall or taking advantage of her disadvantage, Nero tends both arms forward to catch her. And he puts one foot on the pizza box, saying a silent goodbye to his balance as well.

Dante falls and cannot roll away, because Nero falls on her, pinning on the ground with his heavy -_too heavy!-_ body.

“So graceful…” Dante groans. “Let me bet, first of your classic dance class.”

“Well, didn’t take you for a ballerina either.” Nero raises his head, ready to add a harsher remark, but the few braincells working into his head fries in one hit as he notices his right hand is squeezing something too soft. His eyes glances down, and Nero confirms what he has suspected: his fingers are pressing into the soft -_warm_\- breast.

“Hey, cat got your tongue?” Dante doesn’t understand why Nero gloms, nor the slight tremble she feels coming from him. Then she realizes, a bit late, and scoffs. “Had I known it was this easy to take you down, I would have squeezed my boobs against your face.”

“Wha–” Nero doesn’t know how to reply. This situation isn’t in his database, and his relationship with women includes mainly Kyrie and Nico, who always keep their clothes on around him. “Hey, I don’t–”

It’s highly embarrassing. Nero has no idea why being so close to Dante feels weird, even if their relationship has already gone past the normal one between a nephew and his aunt, only twice (nobody knows), and maybe that is why he still feels uncomfortable when Dante wears a tighter t-shirt or… well, wears no t-shirt at all.

Ah, his breath his short, he is almost painting. He is hard. Fuck.

Dante smirks, and Nero doesn’t like it – but damn, if that smirk isn’t sending sinful shivers down his spine. Nero tries to pull himself away from that danger before he steps too far to stop, but as he is kneeling over her, so close at making the wise choice of someone who grew up fed with a sacred doctrine, Nero’s guts remember him he’s not enough human to care. He bends down and kisses Dante.

It’s not the playful and gentle nibble of lips Dante used to tease him. They growl, and bite and munch with the passion of two wild animals. Their mouths don’t touch for more than a handful of seconds before one tries to take the lead, making the other retreat only to attack. When Dante turns her head at another attempt of kiss, Nero wrinkles the nose.

Her eyes flicker towards the bedroom door. “The floor is a bit uncomfortable.” Dante bends her legs and pushes him away with both feet on his stomach, no sign of violence nor intention to hurt him. She runs upstairs and Nero tails her. Dante climbs the steps twice per time, she almost flies, but Nero can keep the pace and she barely manages to step inside the bedroom before he catches her with both arms around her shoulders: he has caught her (or has she let herself being caught?).

Dante laughs, as happy as a child who is enjoying that tag game, and Nero feels like laughing himself. But her breath trembles when Nero’s lips are close to her mouth, and they are adults again.

The bed creaks under their weight.

Dante kicks her boots away and the trousers follow on the floor. Nero is almost disappointed that she has denied him of the enjoyment of the undressing, but the urge of satisfying his physical needs kills that feeling right away. He’s always been an impatient one, and Dante seems to be a bird of a feather with him, because she straddles him and rubs herself against his groin. Only after ripping a satisfied moan from him, she kisses his lips.

Her breast is against his chest, and her pussy against his cock. Nero would gladly enjoy fingering her (maybe with his demonic wings), squeezing her boobs and licking her belly, just to see if that Dante’s reactions to his attentions are different – or just because he has a not-so-hidden desire to teach that brat a delicious lesson on how to behave with seniors, which was more or less the same Dante did when she let a Nero on the verge of the rut fucking her senseless. However, Nero is too young and his libido too strong to play any game and, the very moment Dante takes off her underwear, he almost rips the zip of his trousers.

Dante sits on him without falter. Nero feels her so tight and wet, sucking him in for his entire length, and he cannot suppress a sigh of appreciation. His hands move on her body in a feverish need, he moves the belt of the jacket away and grasps her breast. Nero feels the fingers sink into the soft flesh, the pink nipples are a temptation he cannot resist to: as if it could soothe his hunger, he sucks one of them. Nero is sure he hears a laugh among the heavy breaths.

Dante is impaling herself, using Nero’s erection to please her own libido. One hand between her leg, massaging the clit at the rhythm of her thrusts, the other behind Nero’s hand, stalling his face on her chest.

“You’re… not that bad…” She chuckles near his ear. “Brat.”

The pain of the bite on her nipple is an immediate shock which travels from her spine directly into her groin. Dante doesn’t restrain the moan, and neither the words coming out of her mouth without any filter. “Shit, you feel so good Ve–” She doesn’t even stop and suddenly changes the end with a sob, as sits once more on the hard cock piercing into her. “–Nero.”

Nero’s blood boils. He’s not angry and neither surprised. He’s slightly pissed off, yes, but that’s all he can feel in the melting pot of scorching hot emotion tingling his body. But of course, his pride is fast at kicking in. His moves are so sudden and fast, that Dante can’t stop him from pinning her on the bed: one blue ghostly hand blocks both her wrists above her head and the other rubs between her legs.

The power coming from Nero is so sharp and intense, that Dante isn’t able to control herself and goes past the peak of pleasure. So soon, she thinks arching her back in search for more contact with those wonderful demonic limbs; so embarrassing, she admits when Nero chuckles in victory (ah, she wants to punch his cocky face). Yet, so good that Dante wants more.

“I think I should take you down a couple of notches.” Nero thrusts into her, Dante shudders. The orgasm has made her body too sensitive for her to hide the reactions and resist the pleasure anymore. But her eyes still defy Nero, and the conceited glance reaches her smile.

“Whatever… you say, brat.”

Nero jolts, not expecting to hear those same exact words again, but jerks out of the surprise as soon as he feels Dante’s thighs clench on his sides. She’s moaning and panting in desperation, and almost howls at Nero fondling her breast with his hands and mouth, her voice goes straight at Nero’s painful dick.

It feels natural, the idea of burying himself inside Dante the deeper he can and filling her with his semen. As he thinks of it, he slams again into her, and she feels his dick pressing against her cervix, releasing the hot cum into her body. It fills her up, so much that it drops outside along her thighs, and maybe –she thinks– it’s bloating her belly as well. Nero groans of satisfaction, his voice a bit strangled but pleased, while he leans his head next to her shoulder, pressing the cheek on the mattress.

“…you…” Dante starts, her chest going up and down fast. “…dirtied my coat.”

Nero snort. “Heh. How about my trousers then?” He raises his head.

“Pay for the laundry.”

“What? You can wash that piece of cloth in your wash–”

It’s Dante who takes his cock out of her body, and Nero feels cold. But he has no time to think about that, because Dante tackles him on the bed, blind to the sticky semen dropping from inside her. Nero looks down: the stunning view of his limp cock squished between Dante’s fluffy boobs makes his stomach clench. Dante licks her lips, her teeth uncovered in a grin.

“Then I guess I’m forced to squeeze the payment out of you.”

Nero holds his breath. He is hard again.


	2. Vergil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must admit I enjoyed much more picturing the interactions between 5N and 3D (sorry 5V)

Dante hasn’t slept near someone since when she was a child. That someone was Vergil, who used to sleep in the same position for the whole night, with Dante clinging on his chest. Nero was the polar opposite, rustling the sheets looking for a comfortable position in the slumber of first sleep, and rolling from one side to another until he threw his arms around Dante’s waist and rubbed his thin stubble against her naked back. She wakes up.

It is early in the morning, the hiding sun already lightens the night sky, but her eyes adapt immediately to the semi-darkness. Nero doesn’t wake up when Dante wriggles away from his hug, nor when the old chair -the same as many years ago- groans a loud creak when she almost stumbles on it. She picks Nero’s t-shirt from the floor and wears it, then does the same with her undies and goes downstairs.

Her hair is messy and her face groggy, she doesn’t even try to hide the loud yawn behind a hand. Dante ignores Vergil and aims straight for the fridge. She doesn’t remember she has ever seen her fridge so filled with food and drinks; that isn’t even the fridge she remembers – wow, she had enough money to buy one?! That is bigger than the small box which has never contained more than some cold pizza, tomato juice and chocolate milk (she uses to put one piece of food per space, so it seems there is more). And now in front of her there is a delicious world: milk, vegetables, meat, eggs… and, of course, pizza, tomato juice and chocolate milk. Dante is sure all that healthy food is Vergil’s fault.

She grabs the chocolate milk and closes the fridge. With the corner of the eye she catches a suspicious movement next to her but is fast enough to turn around and grab what Vergil has just thrown at her: a pack of biscuits. Dante gives him a puzzled look that Vergil doesn’t exchange, too busy to line up coffee, sugar, jam and melba toast. The breakfast of an old man, Dante thinks – well, Vergil has always been old, but at that point in his life he is old for real. He has some rides on the forehead and the skin around the eyes isn’t smooth anymore, but he’s still -Dante emits a low disappointed growl- handsome.

Vergil opens the fridge as soon as Dante leaves and in his right hand a small pudding appears. Maybe it was hidden somewhere behind the vegetables, because Dante is sure she didn’t detect it. Her attempt at shoving the hand towards Vergil to snatch the pudding fails; her brother passes it to the other hand and glances at her.

“It’s mine.”

“I don’t see your name–” there is his name written on one side, signed with a black marker so that it couldn’t be mistaken. “…you’ve always had this stupid habit.”

“I should remind you that you had this bad habit of taking my things.”

“And you took mine.”

“I hardly doubt it.”

His behavior hasn’t changed much, Dante thinks. Then she remembers she is still mad at Vergil, mad at his fake words and empty promises. She is fast enough to pierce through his defenses and slaps the pudding away from the unsteady grip of his fingers as he’s opening the lid.

Dante is almost sorry for the delicious looking pudding spread at his feet and on his boots, but the satisfaction of putting some surprise on his brother’s face is enough to overcome her sweet tooth.

“Too much sugar is bad for old far–”

“Annoying.”

“What?”

“I said: annoying.” Vergil spells the word with clear voice and takes a rug to clean the mess. What happened didn’t faze him in the slightest, at least that is what Dante can see from his indifferent reaction.

When they were kids, all Dante had to do to get some of her brother’s attention was yelling his name enough for Vergil to be fed up with her voice and turn from the books to her, even if for a little. They met again too many years after their mother’s death, being apart for so long that the strength of her spell faded away. Dante called Vergil’s name so much that night her voice turned coarse, but in the morning Vergil was gone together with his lies. And his attention turned elsewhere, to a random woman, or maybe not so random. Dante didn’t ask because she doesn’t want to know more.

Dante grabs the biscuits and the milk, and runs upstairs. Less than two minutes later, she is back, still wearing Nero’s t-shirt like a very short dress and with the boots stomping on the stairs. Vergil is carefully brewing his coffee, and yet realizes she’s taking her weapons with her.

“Give Nero his t-shirt back.”

“If he wants it, he’ll come after me.” Dante discards him. “And he dirtied my coat.” Vergil takes few steps to block his path. Dante rolls her eyes. “What now? _Brother_.”

“Take that off.”

“No. I’m keeping it, I like it.”

Dante is not sure what the sudden dark shade into Vergil’s eyes is. Maybe he has been annoyed at her all the time but pretended to be unfazed because he is the adult now – and has always acted as the bigger brother who had the upper hand on everything, even if he failed at behaving as such.

Vergil has Yamato in hand, and Dante takes a step backward, because he doesn’t wait to release the first sling. She manages to avoid major damages, except for a sad oblique cut on her chest: the cloth of the raggedy t-shirt rips at last, after many battles, betrayed by the very sword who once sided with Nero. Dante looks at her boobs showing through the cut, then smirks at Vergil.

“Elegant in the streets and a pervert at heart, huh, brother?” Dante splits the air with Rebellion, the metallic swing echoes around them. “With all the cloth you could cut!” She charges at him without thinking twice.

Nero wakes up because he’s hungry and because the clash of sword mixed with Dante’s loud voice drilled through the walls right into his ears. When he reaches the stairs and looks down, he cannot suppress a sigh of relief: Dante and Vergil are still alive (especially Dante, who hasn’t realized yet that against _that_ Vergil she has no chance of victory), and all the office needs is a new parquet -old news-, a good painting on the walls -since forever- and someone with enough patience to collect the thin pieces of paper and dirt scattered around. Nero isn’t sure if Vergil managed to channel Dante’s rage so that she wouldn’t trash her own place or if that office had the same amount of luck of her owner. Probably the latter.

“What the hell?!” The twins look fine, so Nero feels entitled to pour his irritation on both of them. He stomps down the stairs. “You two can’t stay alone for–” As he descends the last step, he notices the familiar shreds of cloth falling on Dante like a second louse skin: where there was _his_ t-shirt, remains a useless net which shows more than cover. And Nero uses the wave of his anger to avoid the tricky call of his hormones – because, he’ll admit later while driving back to Fortuna, there’s something exciting in spying at Dante’s body through the holes in his t-shirt.

“Hey! That’s my t-shirt!”

“Was.” Dante corrects him. “Thanks to your daddy here.”

Nero glares at Vergil, raises both hands, his mouth opened on the verge of saying something but, at the last moment, he just lets the arms fall along his hips and emits a frustrated groan.

“He didn’t want to let me go.” Dante explains.

“You cannot go around as you please.” Despite Vergil is trying to keep his cool, Nero catches an odd vibration coming from his voice.

If Dante noticed as well, Nero can’t tell, because her mocking voice doesn’t sound as venomous as the previous day. “Oh, you mean disappearing without saying anything like you?” She rolls her eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

“We don’t doubt that.” Nero speaks before Vergil has the chance to add more damage. “But it would be hard to explain who you are if you happen to run into someone who knows you, so–”

“Hey, _he_…” She points at Vergil “…had a son and I cannot pretend in the future to have a daughter?”

Well… shit.

Nero doesn’t want to admit it, especially because he feels a sort of underlying rivalry with such a young Dante, but she is right. Instead of sinking more in the wrong turn the conversation has taken, Nero just snorts.

“Whatever. I must go back to Fortuna, I told Kyrie and Nico I would be back right after the job.”

Vergil totally ignores him, and this gets on Nero’s nerves more than usual (yes, Vergil still ignores him or Dante according to his daily mood). “The lie of the daughter is weak. People who have been knowing you for a long time would have noticed the belly.”

Dante fakes a surprised face. “Oh wow! There are still people around me after all these years?” She shakes her head. She cannot even believe that she is sharing her living space with his brother, how could they trick her into the illusion of a future where she had old friends?

“Why so surprised? You’re not that bad after all.” Nero speaks without thinking much, while he climbs the stairs again in a hurry, so he doesn’t notice Dante’s surprised (sincere) stare. Vergil does. “I’m leaving now. You two together are impossible!”

***

Under the coat, Nero wears one of Vergil’s t-shirts. Dante, who got rid of the departed t-shirt and remained only with the panties, looks at the almost charming scene developing in front of her eyes: Nero is looking everywhere which isn’t Vergil’s face (and her almost naked body) while Vergil is adjusting the collar and the folds of his coat. His timing of patience is almost ten seconds before the snap.

“What are you doing?!”

“Giving you a decent look. It displeases me you’ve taken from the wrong branch of the family.”

Dante falls on the sofa face up. “Hey, I’m here, I can hear you.” She sounds bored.

“I know, sister.”

Vergil receives a middle finger who he isn’t supposed to see, but his faint smile doesn’t escape Nero’s sight.

“So, Vergil…” Nero scratches the back of his head, finding himself in lack of words as usual whenever it came to Vergil. “…I’m going.”

Nero thanks his irritation, which prevented him from thinking about what he did with Dante the previous night, and he doesn’t even want to start wondering how Vergil came to know about them – because Vergil knew it, Nero could bet his right arm (_ha ha, good joke_) on it.

“I know you’re going.”

“Wh…” Nero grunts. “You really…” He turns around and has the fingers already on the handle when he feels a poke behind the head. “What was that?!”

He faces a very serious Vergil, whose expression didn’t flinch a bit. “Don’t indulge.”

Nero seems confused, he looks suspicious, but nods. “…okay?” He heads out, closing the door behind him. And yet, Dante and Vergil clearly hear his grumble. “What the fuck does it even mean, don’t indulge?”

The office is silent.

Vergil glances at Dante: she is stretching her legs and arms, her boobs slightly falling to the sides spreading the delicious rut Vergil loves to tickle with his tongue. Dante is so full of openings that it would take Vergil one second to loom over her and use his fingers to send her sanity to Heaven. But he doesn’t do anything more than sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa.

“I liked that t-shirt.” Dante says out of the blue. Vergil stays silent, so she goes on. “Nero’s t-shirt was cool and you had to slice it, didn’t you?”

“That was because of your weakness.”

Dante pouts. “You’re an old man but still the same.” A sigh. “At least he has a nice taste in clothes, unlike someone I know.”

Again, Vergil doesn’t add anything. Dante turns her head to glance at Vergil’s head, so close that she could just stretch her hand a bit to touch him; she looks back at the ceiling.

“He’s gentle.” Silence. “Are you sure it’s–”

“There are solid proofs.” Vergil interrupts her. “I thought you hated him.”

“I don’t hate him. But he speaks in a way that makes me want to smash…” She hits her left palm with the right fist, in a mild simulation of her intentions. “…his face. He’s freaking cocky and entitled to shit even if he’s just a loser.” Dante takes some seconds to conclude. “On a second thought, he is your son after all.”

She looks at him with a smirk, but there’s no visible response coming from him. Dante stops smiling and turns around to give him her back.

“What a shitty father.”

“I had no idea you were an expert on the matter.”

Vergil’s slight irony pokes all of Dante’s nerves. “Figures…” She snorts a half laugh. “You should have given him a kiss. That’s why he doesn’t call you dad.”

“I don’t care.”

Silence.

“Then why do you keep him around?” Tension is running under Dante’s skin as she waits for the reply. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty, one minute. Stop. Now Vergil won’t reply anymore. “Mom used to kiss us.”

_ Don’t you remember? _ she wants to ask but stops right before the words can roll from his tongue.

“Father used to do it as well.” Vergil’s reply surprises Dante. “Or are you saying you don’t remember he kissed us on the forehead when got us to bed?”

Dante slightly touches her own forehead, then sinks the fingers through her hair. “I do remember. And I remember you cut my hair when it took me one year to make them grow as I wanted it. You were an asshole already back then.”

Again, Vergil lets the conversation fall into the silence. When they were children, he always minded his business and, without giving her too much credit, Vergil ignored her requests unless Dante brought it to a physical fight. They fought a lot, for their mother’s despair.

“I’m sorry.”

Dante doesn’t expect Vergil to talk first, nor that he would say something like that. Sorry, for what? Dante doesn’t want to let her hopes high, especially for something so numb without a precise connection. She scoffs.

“Long hair is a hassle when it comes to demon hunting.” She turns around and throws her arms around his neck, pushing her breast against his head. Vergil doesn’t push her away, and it makes Dante happier than she wants to. “But you’re an asshole anyway, broth–WAH!”

Dante has no idea how Vergil stood up while grabbing her like a sack of potatoes under his arm, but he did it and she is mad at him because that move is too cool for some old-spirited idiot like him.

“Let me go!” Vergil ignores her and walks to the stairs. Dante calms down. “Stupid brother… I haven’t forgiven you yet.”

“I know.” He sounds calm, almost resigned, and her stomach clenches a bit.

Dante has already come once, but she still cannot believe Vergil can do something with his mouth which isn’t belittling her. He is eating her, forcing her tired body to feel more shivers coiling into her stomach, and Dante can’t hold the moans climbing in a frenzy up her throat.

Vergil stops all of a sudden; Dante feels a bit of relief and a bit of disappointment.

“You weren’t this vocal with Nero.” He is pleased, Vergil, and his grin is the perfect embodiment of satisfaction.

Dante exhales a heavy sigh; her chest raises and lowers with a slight tremble. “You heard us...”

“I couldn’t stay outside only because you kept going at it like rabid rabbits.”

Vergil sinks again between her legs, and Dante claws the duvet, her whole body jolting as the tongue aims for her most sensitive spot. “Yes…” She stutters a laugh. “…and you’re too old for that!” Her voice raises into a gasp, because Vergil isn’t showing the slightest mercy – and Dante, deep inside, is grateful for how he is licking her soul out of her body. She comes again with a liberating groan.

Dante is beautiful, worn out by pleasure, naked and sweaty, with her wet eyes looking only at him. Vergil licks his lips, her strong taste still lingering on the tongue. He curls from behind against her body (Dante feels his hard dick pressing on the crease of her butt), hugs her and kisses her neck.

She sighs. “I wish Nero was here, he’s more fun in bed.” Even if Dante loved what Vergil did to her, her guts are still boiling with grudge, and stinging her brother with a sword or some words has always given her a temporary relief from the idea her action doesn’t affect him in the slightest way; it works now as it did when she was a child. But this time, Vergil doesn’t ignore her for the sake of a book, mostly because she is naked into his arms and he is aroused – that is the main reason, Dante is sure.

The smirk on her lips disappears into the loud cry Vergil rips out of her body. He isn’t rough and he doesn’t bring pain to her, that subtle thin line of ache which arouses Dante; little she knew, up to that moment, about how the tender caresses on her breast, the slow touch between her legs and the wet trail of soft bites on her neck could drive her crazy in a single go more than rough action. Neglection and pain were all she associated with Vergil, and she is not ready to face him so kind and careful in guiding her to the brim of the best pleasure she has ever felt.

“Are you coming again…” His breath tickles her ear. “…Dante?” Vergil mutters her name with a low husky voice drenched in sins.

Yes, Dante comes again. She shudders into his arms and melts like butter against his chest, letting Vergil embrace her into a tight hug. Tired, surprised, embarrassed and pissed off. All those emotions show in the reddish color tainting her pale cheeks and the grumpy look she gives Vergil as she turns around to push her whole body against him.

It’s annoying how Vergil manages to stay so calm even when Dante is squeezing his hard dick and rubbing her fingers against the fabric of the trousers to open them: not a single tremble in his breath, nor a slight jolt from his chest or a twitch of his eyebrows. So impenetrable, so calm and cold, such an assh–

So fast. Dante barely follows Vergil pinning her down on the bed and, even if her first instinct is to fight back, her muscles feels like jelly, and she hasn’t enough strength to free herself from his grip.

Vergil exploded, released the stiff chains of his conceited attitude, and looked at her.

Blood flooded to her head, and Dante felt like she was drunk. “You always want the upper hand…” She snorts. “…Vergil.”

Dante opens her legs and lets Vergil in.

Vergil made her come twice again before he came into her body, so violent that Dante blacked out for few seconds. When he finished, he didn’t give her any time to recover and fingered her to another orgasm, then put her on his lap and teased her breast with his mouth while penetrating her a second time. All that sex drained her, but she didn’t fall asleep.

When Vergil comes back from the toilet, after Dante took her sweet time in, he finds her sister sprawled on the bed with tangled into his coat. It’s baggy on her shoulders, the sleeves softly fall way past her hands and the hem goes over her feet; Dante didn’t close it, and her naked body shows against the pitch black.

“Your tastes in clothes are awful, brother.”

“Give it back then.”

Dante pulls back the hem slowly falling down her left shoulder. “Come and get it.” She sounds tired, but Vergil knows she means to put on a fight if necessary.

Vergil sits on the bed, Dante is wary of him. As he rests his head on her thighs, tightly hugging her waist, He feels Dante hesitation: she freezes, her body is rigid and there’s no response from her. Vergil knows she doesn’t have at hand the right reaction for such a normal (sweet) unexpected gesture. Vergil knows, because he used to be like her – he often wonders when she has learnt, and who taught her, or if her body has just recalled, day by day, year by year, their mother’s affection.

“We do this now?” She coats her voice with the insolence of a brat, but her breath slightly wavers. “Really?”

“Sometimes.” Vergil understands the demanding silence and adds “Sometimes you put your head on me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Dante clicks her tongue. “Figures…”

He inhales the weak and tender human scent of his sister, still not mingled with the demonic power sleeping deep inside her. “But it took a long way back home to reach this.”

A hesitant hand leans on his head, fingers give clumsy scratches near his neck.

“Don’t get this wrong. I’m still mad at you.”

Vergil smiles.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dante came a lot, but she's the top when it comes to physical resistance, Vergil and Nero are noobs in comparison

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot write about Dante without quoting her/his boobs at least a lot of times.  
(Psssst, my twitter: [Steangine](https://twitter.com/steangine)


End file.
